Publius and Calliope
by the-fire-brand-fox
Summary: Alexander Hamilton has had a lot taken away in his young life, but what if one lost thing was found..and unknowingly was threatening his political career?
1. Kitty

April 19th, 1765

"Your sweet lamb is calling for you, Miss Faucette," Called Flora, a contrasting feature to the crumbling walls of the top floor of the two story house on 34 Company Street, pressed awardly on a corner. Her voice rang loudly throughout the corridor, a rude awakening to the frail, red haired boy who had his face hidden away in a book, his slave sat by his side, thin, wiry legs pulled up to his chest.

"Mizzer Hamilton.." His voice cracked with uncertainty. His dark eyes were alluring, in an unstable, feeble way. His dark lips were pressed together tightly, as if he was holding back the words that threatened to spill from his mouth. Ten year old, Alexander, his eyes sparkling their usual violet hue looked up at his assigned servant in interest, putting his book facedown, as to listen. "Yes, Ajax? What troubles you?" The ten year old was known for his fragility, but much more regarded in his raw intellect, then his weak frame. This was clear to Ajax as he fiddled with the silk shirttails of the men's button up he had been given.

"Sir, why d'you enjoy readin' so?" He asked in a husky, raspy voice, much different than the one he had spoken with only a moment before.

Alexander frowned, his thin pink lips curled downwards as he attempted to come up with a simple, but satisfactory answer. "There are thirty four books on the shelf in Mother's room, and each of them have different titles. I suppose, it seems like each book holds another life within it." He answered carefully, pointing to the spine of the book he was currently reading, which, in faded letters read The Prince.

It told the story of a prince, and how he would have to become a superior leader to bring his country to its complete destiny. It was enticing to Alexander, learning how to lead..showed power. It was only the prospect of getting to such a seemingly unreachable pedestal that baffled him. On the tiny island of Nevis, his lessons were written by the gnarled hands of nuns who ran the church down the street, who only watched piteously as the youngest Hamilton boy voraciously seemed to tear up the Yiddish lessons, and ripped through French that it seemed ironic that he spoke with such ease. If that did not seem piteous enough, Alexander had heard the whispers of the black shrouded women, their talk of his heathenous mother wormed their way into his ears, thus forcing bitter tears from his eyes, but he wiped them away before James Junior could see them and scrutinize his infantile ways, because tears were not for men, but yet the new baby girl that sat in her bassinet the corner of the foyer, swaddled in cheap cloth. Alexander realized that James was right, in the most easily spoken of ways. But he had to be a leader for Anastasia, who laid helplessly in his mother's arms for the first few days of her short life, little hands balled up against her ruddy, soft cheeks, wailing for a feeding whenever it was due. Her features were dark, and alluring in a sweet, new way. Her hair lay flat against her forehead in silky black strands Her eyes were a hazel hue, finished off with a curtain of velvet lashes surrounding each eye. He had remarked on how beautiful she was, a compliment to his mother, who only replied flatly.

"Anastasia means 'resurrection' in Latin, my dear boy. Did you know that?" Rachel's xpression tightened the longer she stared at the babe. "Of what, is what she will show later in life."

Alexander felt his face grow hot. "A man is supposed to do the work, mother. Not a baby."

Rachel's expression loosened into her sweet laughter. "Of course he is, my boy. I am only saying that Anastasia seems different than the rest."

It was more than looks, Rachel had insisted, it was the way the girl's eyes sparked curiosity at the world she was confined to, when she wasn't mewling for another feeding. Alexander called her "Kitty", just to make a point out of the incessant noise she made.

"Mizzer Hamilton?" Alexander was snapped back to reality and met with Ajax's tilted gaze. "Are you okay, sir?"

Alexander smiled tightly, just as his mother did. "Yes, Ajax?"

Ajax opened his mouth to speak when Flora's heavy footfalls interrupted, and her drooping cream colored skirt flew with vigor as Rachel called her into the sitting room. Alexander's keen eye noticed that a wrapped bundle lay firmly in her thick, tree-trunk arms. He got to his feet with a marginal struggle, before padding to the sitting room, only for his presence to be met with the stern gazes of his mother, dressed smartly in a red gown, her golden hair lay over her shoulder in a braid. Her green eyes snapped with..guilt as Flora passed Anastasia to a portly woman whose skin shone piggishly in the light that filtered through the window pane, her nose was raised horrendously, so one could see her nostrils. She had kind brown eyes, but underneath Alex saw deception.

"Mother," He said stiffly. "What is going..on?"

Rachel put on her tight lipped smile, gripping the delicate handle of her teacup tightly. "My dear boy.." The confidence in her normal tone had vanished. "I never meant for you to witness such a thing."

What an insult, Alexander thought, to his own intelligence. The thought turned to rage, withheld as he held his week-old sister close for the last moment, and swore to himself that he would lead, parting the way for his success with ink on his hands.

December 17th, 1781

It had always been said that promises rang true when the stars aligned in one's favor. His only light was a fading lantern dying slowly in the wee hours of morning, his back ached from having been stooped over a desk for so long. His teeth chattered from the nagging of the setting winter weather, still not the least bit pleasurable to think of, especially considering the mammoth winters Alexander had spent in almost threadbare attire during his time in the war. He had hung up His uniform deep in the back of his closet, not wanting to relive the dangerous moments, the adrenaline of a martyr that he had felt coursing through his veins. It was an unwelcome feeling that threatened to ravage his body yet again, each moment longer his gaze lingered on the bouquet of red roses that lay dormant on his bed, waiting to be taken into..mysterious hands. Anastasia's hands, to be exact.

He could hear his Betsey usher someone inside from downstairs, almost see her force the door closed as to keep out the wild winds.

Then..Anastasia spoke, the words that she spoke weren't clear, but the soft warmth of her voice.

Alexander grabbed the roses in a frenzy, the collar of his shirt was wrinkled, and ripe with sweat was his sleeves, but once he saw her round, sweet face, smattered with a small spray of freckles, paired with those same glittering eyes, the anxieties that worried him relentlessly melted away, for it was Kitty.

"Anastasia," He started, then stopped, "How..beautiful you have become.." Her thin, graceful fingers took hold of the brilliantly colored roses, her blush blossomed to match the hue. She curtsied, her silky raven locks bouncing slightly, "General Hamilton," Her voice was soft, but collected. "Your home is wonderful, and your wife is so very pleasant." Alexander raised a reddish brow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You mustn't call me General Hamilton, my darling, Alexander is my preferred namesake for family purposes."

Anastasia's blush plummeted to a deep fuschia color. "Forgive me, for I seem to forget myself.."

Icebreakers were smashed, as the two, talked flirtatiously of their time on the Island, teetering over the subject of the hurricane. It was at that moment through the darkness, that Alexander slipped a dash of bourbon from a small flask in his pocket into his half empty cup of violet tea, listening quietly as Anastasia launched into her version of the hurricane. "Mrs. Steppes always told me to thank the Lord as another casket was brought into the Church, for whoever had perished." Her sweet features curdled in disdain. "What hogwash, hm?" Alexander finished with soft laughter. "But it seemed you lived a happy life on..Nevis for the sixteen years before you came here." He felt his expression fall. "I believe my mother thought it to be necessary to keep us apart. And her plan seemed to fall through even though she perished."

Anastasia smiled coyly. "Isn't it funny, how we contradict ourselves in times of..low light? I see no contradiction bigger than you, sitting in front of me."

Alexander poured a shot of bourbon in her own teacup, watching it turn amber. "Enlighten me, won't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

As the night drew its inky curtains on the island, Alexander and his newfound sister spoke almost too kindly of their homeland. Alexander listened patiently to his sister's languished, soft spoken ideas, which surely didn't match his own. He drank his bourbon laced tea with..much chagrin, almost, at the way she spoke, soft, pale hands fluttering gently in the air, like dove's wings. They only stopped flapping when she reached the subject of her. They settled in her lap, taking time to smooth out the wrinkles in her calico patterned skirt.

"...Was our mother," Her voice threatened to break. "...in a hurry to rid herself of me?" Her amber eyes had deepened to an opaque chocolate color, as dim as the silhouette of the chaise she sat upon. " Her soft, pink lips were pressed together tightly, magnifying her smile lines as they curled downwards in utter disdain.

Alexander felt his eyebrows raise the slightest touch. He was, of course, anticipating the many things they would have in common, if any.

She seemed so..quiet, so..mouseish. So, unlike him. She reminded him fondly of his wife, who was resting upstairs, looking after their son, Phillip, arguably the only pride and joy he fostered besides his impeccable writing skills.

"No," He said finally, a thin smile pulling fakely at the corners of his lips. "The first few days of your life were cherished, I can assure you, dear. It was only because of my-_our_ father's recent departure that we could not give you a stable home." He picked up the burgundy-glass bottle, which was only half filled with bourbon at that moment. He gripped the slender neck, thumb crooked, poised to pop off the cork. But in the flash of a second, his grip loosened, and his hand flicked to his mouth to sustain the effects of a weakly feigned cough.

Anastasia sat placidly, still, hands folded in her lap, relaxed, as if she was anticipating the exact words that awkwardly tumbled from his mouth.

Alexander's gaze flickered to the Turkish rug that lay below the soles of his mud splattered boots, cracked and worn from having stomped on the green grasses of Yorktown, proudly covered with the blood of the Redcoats. There was..remorse, at one low point or another, but it was a war well fought. Crimson accents still gripped to the leather, and had pulled Anastasia's gaze-a terrified one.

He smirked childishly. "Blood isn't for the faintest of hearts, dear." He set his boots on the table with a hearty clunk, and reveled in silent hilarity when her expression curdled. "But you seemed drawn to it," Anastasia's eyes crinkled as a nervous bubble of laughter arose from her lips, which she faintly covered with a hand. Once she was over her fit, she lay up against the upholstered pillows, holding one close to her chest as if it were a needy babe.

"I am drawn to the stories those boots may tell, not the people they aided in killing." Her eyes remained open, only at half mast, and one could tell, that even through the dimming lantern's light, she was being taken prisoner by the sandman.

Soon, Anastasia Hamilton was being carried up a grand staircase by her older brother, whose lean, but stout figure managed to hold her with ease. Elizabeth stood in the hallway, clad only in a lace-hemmed nightdress, her thin arms crossed over her chest, as if she was a mother, chastising her unruly child.

"Which room may she take?" Alexander asked casually, as if he were blind to the sour expression that etched itself into his wife's winsome features. Her hair was done down in a loose, careless braid, rumpled by a restless, short fit of slumber.

"The one across from ours, I suppose." Eliza spoke petulantly, her tone laced with the oncoming of a yawn. "She looks..so small in your arms, dear. As if she needs to be..protected,``she spat, cupping her hand around the candle's wispy, dying flame.

Alexander raised a brow before squaring off against his wife. "You know, my dear, I will never think any less of you because she has entered my life. You must, surely not be a prat concerning this..new turn of events." His tone was low, as not to wake Anastasia. .

Eliza whirled around, her delicate brows shot up in surprise. "Alexander, I am anything but jealous. I am telling you to protect her, quite literally. Could you not tell that she is with child?"

Alexander's eyes widened as he looked down at the girl, who faced his chest, only for his gaze to focus on the tiny bump, hidden by the loose bodice of her dress.

"Did you not see that she did not even take a sip of your..concoction?" Eliza smiled pitifully down at the girl, as if she were laughing at her expense. "Or were you so enraptured in talk of yourself, that you didn't notice." She smiled wryly, like a fox who had found its prey hiding in the thick brush of the forest floor.

"Forgive me, my darling." Alexander said in a tone just as mocking. "For I don't have such a keen, balanced motherly sense as you seem to have acquainted yourself with."

Elizabeth laughed her light, throaty laugh, before bading her husband a good night, the wick of her candle finally dimming for good.

Alexander crept into the room adjacent to his, the guest room. The shape of the large overarching canopy bed was prominent. Anastasia moaned, lazily reaching for his shoulder. Her eyes opened to reveal amber slits. "..What..is happening?"

Alexander immediately hushed her, pressing a finger to her lips, silencing her. "..Please, rest."

Anastasia immediately let loose as she was set down on the chenille bedspread, her hair lay about her in a chestnut brown splash. Her chest rose and fell easily.

"Good night, Kitty.."


End file.
